A Series of Unfortunate Numbers - Lemony Snicket
by ikes
Summary: This is how the beginning of I Am Number Four would look if it was written by Lemony Snicket.


A Series of Unfortunate Numbers

OneTwoThreeFourFiveSixSevenEightNine. We started out as nine, and if we had known what was in store, we may not have bothered. We left when we were young, so young we almost didn't remember the destruction of Lorien. OK, you can stop reading now. There are plenty of other fanfics without deaths and other bad things occurring. It it my duty to record these events, but you have no obligation to continue reading.

I see that, sadly, you have ignored my advice. Very well. Back to my incomplete memories of Lorien's last day which I still hope to forget. I am told the ground shook, a feeling you will recognize if you have ever been in a burning mansion. Then again, if you have, you probably aren't alive to read this. Here is another great opportunity to stop reading.

It was the two-week period of the year when both moons hang on opposite sides of the horizon. It was a time of celebration, and anyone with experience will tell you that means bad things were about to happen. Alas, very few people then had such experience.

What I remember most vividly is the way my grandmother looked that day. She's dead now, of course. I remember the way my grandfather's glasses gathered the light from the sky. There were words said by each of them. I don't remember them. Nothing haunts me more. To get an idea of how I felt, the next time you see your grandparents, kill them, then try to forget about it. (I told you to stop reading, didn't I?)

It took a year to get here. I was five when we arrived. If you are no longer five, there is no way to understand how five year olds feel,and definitely not five year old aliens completing a spaceship journey to Earth. We were to assimilate, a word which here means "pretend to be a normal human". We are expected to go back to Lorien when it can support life again, something that looks less likely every day. For how long, nobody knew. None of them know where I am, and I suspect some no longer care. That is how we protect ourselves, "protect" being used lightly. There was a charm placed on us. _Charm_, here, refers to a Loric spell cast upon us when we left, guaranteeing we can only be killed in the order of our number, so long as we stay apart.

When one of is found and killed, an occurrence far too common, a circular scar wraps around the right ankle of the survivors. And on each of our left ankles, there is a small scar, identical to the amulets we all wear. The death scar, as I like to call them, are meant as a warning, so we know whose next. Of course, knowing and living are different, as proven by my first scar, which came when I was nine. It woke me from slumber, a term which here means "something you _really _don't want to interrupt to learn about One's death". We were living in Arizona at the time. It was the first sign that they had fond us at last, and the first sign that we were in danger. There were many, many more signs after that night. We moved to Minnesota the next day.

The second scar came when I was twelve. If you have ever been in school, you probably know about the evil scourge that is spelling bees. In fact, I'd suggest you skip this paragraph if you haven't heard about them yet. The teacher makes everyone stand, and the only way to sit down is public embarrassment. Teachers do this because it's easier and more fun than actually teaching the kids anything. Anyway, my teacher, this time in Colorado, decided to inflict one on us.

As soon as the pain started I knew Two was dead. The teacher, looking glad to see some action, sprayed me with a fire extinguisher and rushed me to the hospital. The doctor saw the first death scar and called the police. Henri was almost arrested for child abuse, but he bribed them to let us go. Remember this, the next time you think about trusting policemen. Your parents probably told you you can. It's the silliest thing I can think of (with the exception of "Nothing", in response to "What's that noise outside?") I have now been questioned by cops so many times I already know by sight how much it will cost me each time. This time we went to Maine. We left everything behind except for the Loric Chest that Henri brought along on every move. All twenty-one of them to date.


End file.
